


Suspended Between Moments

by Polyhymnia_62



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s03e13 Last of the Time Lords, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26178691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyhymnia_62/pseuds/Polyhymnia_62
Summary: After the Year that Never Happened, the Doctor feels stuck. An overheard conversation helps him move forward.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	Suspended Between Moments

**Author's Note:**

> Scene from But I Have Promises to keep. Since it can easily stand alone, I thought I'd publish it on its own for people looking for stories about Martha or Jack post-Year that Never Happened, as Promises is focused on Ten and Rose.

Even with his eyes closed, the Doctor could tell he wasn’t in the console room—he wasn’t in his own room, wasn’t in the library, and wasn’t in the medical bay, either. For the first time in a year, he was in the TARDIS. He wasn't on public display and was curled up in what amounted to a cleaning closet—seemed odd when he thought about it, what with how nicely the TARDIS cleaned herself up. Yet—there he was. She had a fleet of empty rooms, a labyrinth of echoing corridors, and a looming, cavernous console room to offer, and in all of that space there was one small, overlooked supply closet. He—he didn’t know…he couldn’t bring himself…libraries and consoles and bedrooms—they begged you to _do_ something. Forget your thoughts and dress for bed, pick a book and read it, face the enormity of space and time to go out and do _something_ —he just couldn’t….

He knew Martha and Jack were out there at the console, waiting for him to make a decision. He’d led all day, letting his feet take him to drop off Martha’s family, take Lucy into custody, and debrief the UNIT team. Thankfully, Martha and Jack were good at following and explaining. They’d mostly left him alone during the blessedly mind-numbing hours when he built and lit the pyre. He couldn’t bring himself to go out there and face them both...all of those held-back questions teeming under their skin...and yet—there was a hungry, ragged ache inside that made him want to plead, no, beg for their companionship. He opened his eyes and made to get up, but then remembered he would have to look Martha in the eyes and stayed on the floor. The lights flickered. He could tell the TARDIS was trying to get his attention. He closed his eyes and stubbornly raised his mental walls just a bit higher. He was not in the mood just yet.

 _She must have taken offense to that_ , he thought, because in a moment, the quiet of the closet was broken by the gentle noise of the TARDIS console room filling up the small space. Voices wafted in along with the engine noises. Indistinct at first, they grew in volume in clarity until he could start to make out words. A pause, and then—

“So. What’re you going to do?” Jack asked. Now their voices were as clear as if they were in the room with him, almost like the walls of the TARDIS weren’t enclosing him. _Why_ …. What sort of game was she playing with him?

Martha let out an abrupt sort of laugh. There was a pause. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Dead serious. If I was looking for evasion, I’d be asking Hirō Onoda in there.” The Doctor could just imagine Jack jerking his head towards the hallway where the Doctor was avoiding them. _He probably wouldn’t imagine a supply closet._

“Ha.” He heard Martha take a breath and slowly let it out. “I guess I haven’t time to think about it.” She paused. “I mean, what am I going to say? Just go back to school? ‘Hello! My name’s Martha Jones, remember the key to staying healthy is a good diet and plenty of exercise, off you pop?” There was that laugh again, a short bark that sounded so _wrong_ coming from her. “Jack, I won’t be able to say a word of any of this to anyone, ever. They’re going to think I’m mental.”

“God, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do now.” Her tone was soft, almost casual, and yet it hit the floor as heavily as the chime of a cloister bell.

His insides squirmed. Stars, he never should have brought her along. But no, he just _had_ to have someone around to tell him how clever he was and laugh at his jokes, someone to distract him from the wreckage in his wake. Oh, Martha. _I’ve ill-used you_.

He remembered bringing Rose back a year later than he promised—the officer, the interrogation, Jackie’s slap. “ _I can’t tell her. I can’t even begin_.” Rose’s words. It had seemed so silly, stupid little humans focused on their tiny little lives. Silly right up until she’d slipped through his fingers and taken his foundation with her. How do you plant the seeds of a new life when the earth’s been salted underneath?

He pressed the heels of his hands into his ears. _This is private. I’m not going to just sit here and_ —

His refusal was met by sharp whine and a spike of irritation. The lights in the closet flared before flickering shakily. She wasn’t in the mood to coddle him. He slid his hands up into his hair. The Doctor felt guilty for ignoring her when she was so fresh out of her own ordeal. He gritted his teeth, wrapped his arms around his legs, and waited to hear what she wanted him to catch.

“Martha, listen—you’re damn right, one hundred percent. No one will understand what you went through. Not your friends, not your colleagues, not even your family.” Martha’s face must have revealed something, because his tone changed when he continued—

“Martha, they were stuck together in that hellhole for so long. They spent every second of the last year dependent on the whims of that madman. He dominated every minute of _every single_ goddamned day, and they couldn’t do anything about it but keep their mouths shut and pray someone’d take him out.”

The Doctor cringed. What was wrong with him? That awful hole left by the Master was still gnawing at his insides, yet all he could thing about were months of shrinking and scraping and flinching.

“Hell, Martha.” Jack’s voice cracked a little. “You have no idea how much you meant to us, and I’m never gonna make it up to you. C'mere.” He sounded like he was hugging her, because his next words came out softer and a little bit muffled. “Just—don’t be too angry if sometimes they talk like a club you’re not part of.”

When Martha spoke again, her voice was more vulnerable with Jack than the Doctor could ever remember her being with him. “How do you manage?”

“Aw, hell if I know, Martha.” Jack sucked in a breath. “I used to try and keep it in, then when that didn’t work, I’d tell these outlandish stories. I think that made it worse—they’d all laugh and jump in all the right places, but by the end everybody’d walk away. ‘What a great story,’ you know?

“You tell people what’s true, you’re gonna have to translate it for them. That’s the thing with all this alien and time-travelling stuff—people might be able to understand what you felt, but if you try to tell it how it happened, they’re going to hear “alien” and get stuck at the door.”

He lapsed into a pensive silence. “War veterans—not the ones in the army, but the resistance type? Partisans and whatnot? They’d probably be able to connect with you. Though a lot of them are probably elderly by now…. The lost time, though…I don’t know it there’s really anyone who’d be able to get that.”

“Curse of a time traveler, yeah?” Her voice was wry, though still weary.

“Yeah. Some curse.” The Doctor curled in on himself even tighter. The weight of straightening out, standing up, and flicking dials on the console hit him in a renewed wave of intimidation. He would have to explain—no, he couldn’t—he needed to think of places to go, places he’d seen or heard of—what would he do if he didn’t have somewhere to go? Think. Think. Somewhere—anywhere. Time was pressing down on him, threatening to fill his lungs and drown him. Koschei—no, the Master—he was the last one left able to _know_ —to remember… understand the enormity of it all—ashes now. Koschei and red grass. Dust on the wind.

No. _Focus. Breath_. Martha and Jack were going to keep talking. They didn’t know what to do. Maybe they knew. Brilliant humans, they’d find a way to go on. They would. Martha had walked the earth for a whole year. She would figure it out. She was good at that. He waited for the next snatch of conversation. Anything to distract from here and now and the hole inside of him that wouldn’t be going away. The silence stretched out in front of him until he thought it would snap like an elastic band.

“It’s—” Jack relaxed the silence. “To be fair, it’s not all ‘gloom and doom,’” he said with some levity. Martha chuckled. He went on. “It’s not _easy_ —feels like trying to build a snowman in hell sometimes—but there are bright spots.”

“Oh?”

“Well, once in a blue moon you meet someone who—who _cares_ enough to try and interpret. You know—reach out, try make connections for themselves so they understand you better.” He let out a breath. “Sure, they’ll go off into the weeds sometimes, that’s for sure, but they—” Jack’s voice cracked again. “They try and meet you where you are.”

“Jack.” Martha’s voice was suddenly softer, tender even. The Doctor recognized that voice. She’d used on him before. “Who—who did you lose?”

“It’s fine. I mean—they’re fine, now. Won’t remember a thing.” Jack’s voice was horribly casual.

“ _Jack_.” It sounded as if she was saying “How can you say that?” but there was a ‘please’ in her voice, the Doctor was sure.

“Hell, Martha. I’m an unkillable man from the fifty-first century. What’s one more skeleton in the closet? They’ve been through crap like this before,” Jack said.

“But you lost them—”

“I know. But _they_ …don’t. They don’t." He paused. "We’ll work it out, eh? Roll with the punches. I’m sure it’ll come up sometime. I just don’t want to think about it for now,” Jack said.

“All right,” she said softly. “I can understand that.” The tremulous purr of the console room subsided until only the low hum of the hallways remained. The Doctor found that it was easier to inhale, now. It was probably… _horribly_ insensitive of him, but just hearing that they were as lost as he felt and yet _still going_ eased some of his paralysis. He wasn’t sure he understood how, but they had no idea what came next and they were somehow at peace with it.

The Doctor rested his hand lightly against the wall as a soft hum sounded through the dim room _. It’s all right, old girl. I’ll only be minute_. The lights flickered gently in response. So neither of them were up to a trip just yet. With his other hand, he caressed the floor under his half-curled fingers, rubbing half-circles with his thumb. _Thank you, old girl. Thank you for…putting up with me._ There was a low hum and he could feel her affection for him settle somewhere in his chest. He relaxed his legs and slowly pushed himself into a standing position. Before leaving, he lingered with his head against the door and his hand resting on the handle. What was he going to say? He thought about Martha and Jack, picturing their brave, beautiful faces. It was all right—they would have places they needed to go…people they needed to see. They would choose where to go and he could follow. Just for a trip or two. He…he knew they wouldn’t want to stay with him for long. At least there were still a few more tasks to complete together before saying goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

> Hirō Onada was a Japanese combatant in the second World War. He was so committed to evading capture by his enemies that he spent 29 years in a Philippine jungle even after his comrades left or died, unconvinced that the war had ended. 
> 
> I’m sorry to make this all about the Doctor—Martha is amazing in her own right and I’d love to write about her in the future with her own thoughts. She’s so amazingly resilient. At some point, I'd love to make this a series and write more about TYTNH from different character's perspectives.


End file.
